


how about that scenery

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dragon sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Interspecies Sex, Other, Pseudo-Incest, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 04:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: Your Ancestor had a saying about the best laid plans. You don't mean to brag, but yours are much,muchbetter.





	how about that scenery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zzyzxstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzyzxstorm/gifts).



> "Sometimes, a dragon themed girl just needs to settle herself down with a big dragon that she has dreamed about for years and get absolutely ravaged by hot, huge dragon cock! Sometimes that is really all you need. Go hogwild with this one, let it take you where your libido desires."

Your Ancestors had left behind all sorts of inheritances. There were clues and leading comments, hints both large and small. There were actual treasures, of varieties the world had not seen! In some cases, there was even hard physical proof, information about them written in their own hands, as unreliable narrators as they may have been.

In your case, you had...a little of everything, really. But there was  _one_  thing, one thing you had been given, that you weren't quite ready to share.

(Of course, you already knew that Vriska had found and  _thoroughly_  read similar passages in Mindfang's diary. That there were certain books of Dualscar's that Eridan kept under lock and key. That Feferi had blocked all links to a certain readily available internet archive her Ancestor had set up for "posterity". This was different. This was  _yours_.)

 

Night turned slowly into day, and you bit down on your lip, ignoring the changing of the time, as you breathed in your Ancestor's words, one hand curled around your bulge, the other exploring your nook.  _Then my own teal spilled upon gleaming white, and pleasure was roared up to the heavens in a huge gout of flame—_

Something snaps through your pleasant haze, and it takes you a moment to realize what it is. You're ready to tell your BELOVED MOIRAIL the fuck off for interrupting you, when you realize  _exactly_  what it is he's interrupted you with. A set of coordinates. A  _specific_  set of coordinates.

Check that. He's getting so many fucking snuggles and paps later.

 

* * *

 

It takes you a week to finalize the plans that you spent months (years) building, and two days to get to the spot. It's a long hike up. You don't complain.

You  _do_  complain when you arrive at the cave to find it blocked off. Of  _course_  you prepared for this, and it's only a matter of minutes before you get the giant boulder out of the way, but the fact that it's  _empty_  is something you had not prepared for, not in your wildest daymares or worst nightdreams.

 

When you hear the wingbeats coming in swift behind you, it's almost a relief.

 

Pyralspite snatches you up before you have the chance to flinch, scream, or do anything even more stupid than that. You're not complaining now. The dragon swoops into the cave, and you brace on its claws to examine the surroundings.

It's actually rather nice. Redglare was well-prepared, and Pyralspite has maintained it well. Probably in her memory.

 

You're thinking it's a very  _strong_  memory, actually. At least, you would judge that based on the way the ancient dragon lusus immediately drops you off on an oddly designed concupiscent platform. You get five seconds to be grateful for your foresight, and the Neophyte's, and sylladexes that can carry  _stupid_ amounts of extra supplies.

Pyralspite shreds  _right_  through your clothes.

You're also grateful that you spent the entire day and night before the trip fucking yourself with pailtoys of different sizes. That you'd left them in even when you went to sleep, with sopor patches slapped over your skin.

That you'd had one in you for almost the entire duration of your hike up.

Oh, and you're also grateful for the lube Nepeta and Feferi recommended.

 

A forked tongue flicks over your sopping wet nook, and the same temperature as you has never felt like more of a cold shock. You'll attribute it to the sheer  _heat_  burning in you, begging to be fucked away by something far outside your size range.

Of course, you're polite. Very much so. You're not going to complain when that same clever tongue goes digging  _so_  much deeper into your aching nook, easing  _almost_ as much need as it calls up. You wriggle against the plush concupiscent platform, and one massive foot, complete with claws the size of proper weapons (or bigger) lands on top of you. Pyralspite's control is impressive—it doesn't even hurt, and you shudder, going still.

Inside you, the tongue works you further open, easily flicking the vibrators you'd had inside of you out. You whine at the loss, and more of the tongue shoves into instead, pulling a moan from your throat.

You're so close—you've been edging yourself, mainly, only allowing an orgasm or two when you really,  _desperately_  needed to let out some slurry (and maybe make a little extra space for that massive bulge to come)—and you  _scream_  in displeasure when Pyralspite pulls away, lifting its clawed foot off of you entirely.

 

Then you promptly scream even louder, in a very different kind of emotion, when a rigidly ridged  _thing_  presses up against you.

 

In one smooth movement, Pyralspite shoves its entire length inside of you, hard enough that you jerk forward as you're nearly lifted up into the air. It feels like you're splitting apart, in the absolute  _best_  kind of way, and you claw at the platform underneath you, begging for more in an absolutely incoherent set of words that you were  _so_  sure you had planned out in advance.

None of them have an effect on the huge dragon buried inside you. Pyralspite moves as it decides to, claws braced on either side of you, each movement it makes seemingly designed to take you deeper. It's then that you glance down and realize: there's still three inches left to go. Oh, fuck. That can't be allowable in a court of law. You would know, you run one, but, but, but—

You cry out again, as the dragon fucks harder into you, and half an inch more slips in. You can already see the outline of its bulge in your abdomen, and that knowledge pushes you close to the edge—

Then Pyralspite pins you back down and  _shoves_  its last two and a half inches into you, and you completely over the edge.

 

You're vaguely aware of a continuation. There's been no motion made, but Pyralspite doesn't seem to care, and you can't bring yourself to care if it doesn't. Instead, you give over, as you're very thoroughly ravaged by absolutely massive dragon bulge, just like your Ancestor had been before you. Noises as animalistic as your Ancestor's lusus are spilling out of you, and your claws haven't even opened a single rent on the oddly tough plush fabric beneath you. You'd be a lot more curious about that if Pyralspite hadn't just shifted back enough to lift you up.

One huge set of claws encircles you, and before you can raise any pertinent issues, the dragon is fucking into you, even harder—or rather, the dragon is using you as a bulgesleeve, to get itself off. You can't even struggle, limp as you are in Pyralspite's grip—all you can do is come, come, come.

 

With an unearthly sound from you, at each movement, at each stroke, things progress—and Pyralspite's pleasure is roared up to the heavens, as you  _scream,_ filled past all sensible limits with slurry of a nature you'd never before encountered.

 

* * *

 

Later, after Pyralspite is done with you, you make mind to mind contact with the dragon and outline plans to visit. Of course "later" covers the period of a week and a half or so, and then another half week for recovery. Not bad for a first time, judging by Redglare's own records.


End file.
